


there for you

by safi



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Concussions, Drunkenness, Dustin Henderson Is the Best, Fever, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Steve Harrington, I'll add tags as I go along, Injury, Mild Blood, Nightmares, Sick Steve, Sick Steve Harrington, Sickfic, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Whump, and he gets many, and i show my love by making him miserable, harrington parents suck, i just love steve okay, is that so wrong, not a lot at all though so don't worry, only teen bc I threw a few bad words in there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-10-03 20:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safi/pseuds/safi
Summary: Steve has always hated asking for help. He's pretty much an adult, right? He can handle himself.It's a good thing he's got a lot of people who care enough to step in when it becomes too much.Essentially, five times Steve gets taken care of and one time he returns the favor.





	1. Joyce

It was almost like the universe was mocking him. Sleep was supposed to be an escape. He had always loved to sleep, but apparently now it didn't love him.

He saw too much in the past few years, knew too much about other terrifying dimensions and secret government labs. 

While other kids his age were worried about college and relationships, Steve had experienced too much in a short period of time to give mundane things like that a second thought. 

But he adapted. 

He made new friends, ones he knew he could trust, and learned more about himself than he thought possible. Things were starting to fall back into place in his life, and a newfound normalcy seemed to be something he might actually accomplish.

That is, if he could sleep through the night.

Night after night, Steve would get a few restless hours in before startling awake from vivid nightmares of the upside down or demodogs or countless other horror-movie-worthy things he’d seen.

He’d gasp or cry or scream himself into the land of the living and spend the rest of the night watching his bedside clock tick itself into the next morning, when he could finally get on with his day like nothing happened.

Tonight would be no different.

There was a blizzard in Hawkins, and because he was Steve and could not have a stroke of luck to save his damn life, the Harrington house lost power. 

His parents were almost always on business trips or vacations, this week being no different. Steve weighed his options and after 0.2 seconds of thinking he’d just tough it out at home decided to crash with someone else that night. He could already see his breath in the icy air.  
One very cautious drive later, Mrs. Byers ushered him into the blissfully warm house and directed him to the couch that had been made up once Joyce got the call about Steve joining for the night.

“Here you go, honey,” she said as she brushed a few stray snowflakes from Steve’s coat. “Make yourself comfortable and don’t hesitate if you need anything, okay?”

Steve nodded as he toed off his boots and climbed onto the makeshift bed.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Byers,” he started. “I know it’s super late and-”

Joyce cut in with a shush and tugged a blanket over Steve. “Nonsense, sweetie. I’d rather you call at any time than freeze to death. Also, call me Joyce.”

She flicked the living room lights off and Steve could hear her footsteps go down the hall. He could see the snow fluttering against the window, and the sight combined with the soft glow of the streetlamps had him asleep in seconds.

\---

Next thing Steve knew, there was a red light coming from outside the house. He pried his eyes open, and almost choked when he saw the outline of a demogorgon against the snowy sky. He went to throw the blanket off and run to warn the Byers, but he couldn’t move a muscle.

He was trapped. 

His eyes darted frantically from his surroundings to the window, where the demogorgon was getting significantly closer with every terrified blink. In a matter of seconds, the beast was right outside and sent an arm crashing through the window, sending splintered glass flying. 

The shards connected with his body and pain surrounded him.

All Steve could do was scream.

And scream.

“Steve!”

Wait. How did the monster know his name?

“Steve, honey, wake up!” 

Huh. The voice was distinctly female and oddly familiar. Motherly, even.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and suddenly he could move again. He scrambled up and spun around in his seat to survey the room. The window was intact and the snow outside pristine. Finally, his eyes settled on the only other thing in the room with him.

Joyce. 

Oh god.

Her sympathetic eyes roamed over his face and before he could react, her thumbs were wiping his cheeks. Belatedly, he realized that he was crying in front of Joyce. Hot tears were rolling down his cheeks and his chest heaved with quiet sobs. 

Shame washed over him like a wave.

He took a shaky breath and tried to control the tears. “I- I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Joyce made a sad sound and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, sweet pea,” She murmured as he let out a few shaky breaths into her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.” 

She maintained her embrace until Steve had calmed down and then guided him gently so that he was lying with his head in her lap.

“Do you get nightmares a lot?” she asked, concern tangible in her voice. Steve nodded miserably. In a broken voice he added, “Every night.”

She made a motherly tsk but said no more. A blanket was settled over him once more and a hand gently stroked his hair.

“Just go back to sleep, hon,” she soothed. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Steve hesitantly closed his eyes but had never been able to go back to sleep after a nightmare, so he didn’t have a lot of hope.

Maybe it was an abnormal shift in his normally shitty luck or the comforting hand on his back, but something in him knew he’d be okay, at least for the rest of the night. 

And with that, Steve slept without a nightmare for the first time in a long time.

This whole having-a-mom-figure thing wasn’t so bad.


	2. Hopper

Jim Hopper was not a morning person.

Never had been and never would be.

As he grumbled into the station with a donut and coffee in hand around 11 AM, it was evident that this morning was no different. 

“Hey chief,” Flo, the cheery station secretary, greeted as he was about to shut his office door and enjoy his donut in peace. “We just got a call from the high school about a fight that you need to go check out.”

He couldn’t help but groan. 

“Can’t Callahan or Powell go take care of it? It can’t be more than a few hooligans trying to show off or something,” he stated. Sadly, Flo shook her head.

“Sorry chief, no can do,” she explained. “Callahan responded to a fender bender and Powell called in sick. I told the school I’d let you know the minute you got here.”

Hopper scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“Fine, fine. Thanks Flo,” he sighed. He went back outside and climbed into his truck, cursing the stupidity of teenagers the entire drive to the school.

\---

“Thank you so much for coming chief,” the principal said as the two walked through the empty halls to the nurse’s office. “I don’t normally call about fights but there were some pretty significant injuries, so I figured it’d be for the best.”

“You did the right thing,” Hopper reassured despite his lingering annoyance. The three perpetrators were slinking near the doorway to the nurse’s office, obviously brooding as they iced their knuckles. 

“Are you guys aware that fighting doesn’t make you any cooler?” Hopper began. “I want you to remember for next time that the only things you gained from this are bruised knuckles, a legal citation and embarrassment. I don’t want to hear about you three causing trouble again, are we clear?”

They nodded their heads without meeting his gaze and were ushered to the office by the principal. 

“I’ll issue your citations once your parents are notified,” Jim warned as they left. He turned to the nurse, who was preparing a new ice pack. 

“Is there another kid I need to write up?”

“No, all three of those boys went after one of their classmates. The poor baby really took a beating,” she explained sympathetically. She handed Hopper the ice pack and directed him towards the back room. 

“I’ll let you speak to him privately. If you get the chance, ask him if he has any other emergency contacts. I’ve called both of his parents but no one picked up,” she said. She propped the door behind her and left Hopper in the small dark room. 

He flicked the light on and couldn’t help but freeze at the sight. 

Steve Harrington was seated on the cot, bleeding sluggishly from a busted lip and sizeable gash on his forehead and looking utterly miserable. 

“What the fuck happened, kid?”

Steve’s dazed eyes slowly met Hopper’s but quickly he lowered his gaze in embarrassment.

“Nothing much.”

Hopper scoffed as he handed the ice pack to Steve, who gingerly pressed the bag to his face.

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Hop started, “but I’m going to let it slide for right now. Is there someone I can call to come pick you up?”

Steve shook his head immediately. 

“My mom is visiting her sister and my dad can’t see me like this.”

Hopper looked at him questioningly. 

“He deserves to know what happened, though. He’ll be glad to know you’re okay.”

Steve laughed wryly. “No he won’t. He’ll be furious for making him leave work and even more upset that I lost the fight.” He looked up almost pleadingly at the chief. 

“Please,” he whispered. “I can’t go home.”

Hopper’s gruff exterior softened slightly at this plea. 

“Okay kid, okay. I won’t make you,” he assured. “But I’m also not gonna leave you here. Let’s head to the cabin and we’ll take it from there.”

He helped Steve to his feet and placed a hand on his shoulder when the teen swayed dizzily. Obviously the hits to his head did a little more damage than just the bloodied lip and brow. The pair was quiet as Hopper eased his truck out of the parking lot and began the short drive back to the cabin. 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the piercing sunlight and nausea swirled low in his stomach. His head throbbed to the beat of his heart- an invisible fist wrapped its fingers around his brain and refused to let go.

He only wrenched his eyes open when the truck rolled to a stop and Hopper’s low voice confirmed, “We’re here. Let’s get you patched up and you can crash here until your head isn’t swirlin’.” 

To his utter mortification, Steve’s eyes burned with the threat of tears. The tone of Hopper’s voice was practically parental, and the mere thought of the officer being willing to take care of him was enough to make Steve realize that this is what parents were supposed to do. 

If Hopper noticed, he didn’t say a thing, but he didn't have to. He simply put his arm around the kid, and the duo began their journey inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has been an embarrassingly long time since I updated any of my ao3 fics and for that I am so sorry- now that my school is closed for at least a month I have nothing! but! time! so I'll be on the grind but in the mean time please excuse how bad this is 
> 
> if you have any requests please let me know!


	3. Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides to blow off some steam at a party, and Billy ends up being the one to take him home.

Despite his reputation, Billy wasn’t the biggest fan of high school parties. Sure, he loved girls fawning over him and getting envious looks from their boyfriends, but other than that and the free beer they were more trouble than they were worth. 

The sweaty bodies surrounding him and the stale scent of alcohol lingering in the hair made him slightly claustrophobic. He made it a personal goal to make his appearance, take a few shots, and be out of whoever's house it was within the hour.

The parties offered reprieve from his shitty home life, so once he left he took the opportunity to drive around town and enjoy the peace.

Tonight was no different.

He had already made out with three girls when it was time to leave. This party was more rowdy than normal, as it was one of the last parties of the school year and everyone in the senior class was invited. 

He glanced at the clock. He had been there little over an hour, and the girl currently climbing on him was edging into sloppy drunk territory. He stood up, carefully sitting the girl up on the bed when she toppled off of him, and swung his coat over his shoulder. 

Stepping over the couples making out on the stairs, he noticed that the partygoers were gathered around the kitchen table, noisily chanting shots! shots! shots!

Of course. Some idiots getting plastered for attention. It really wouldn’t be a high school party without some type of obscene drinking competition.

He couldn’t care less about the crowd, but as he was stepping outside a new chant caught his attention. 

_Har-ring-ton! Har-ring-ton!_

Billy spun on his heel. No fucking way. He pushed his way into the clamoring group to see Steve taking the final and winning shot, stupidly grinning and holding the glass above his head in triumph.

Apparently, yes way.

“Hell yeah!” Steve yelled as others congratulated him with high-fives and pats on the back. Once the winner was decided the crowd dispersed rather quickly, leaving Billy and Steve the only two at the table. 

“You hate these parties,” Billy stated as Steve fell into a chair. “Why come here and do something fucking stupid?” The latter looked surprised, as if he didn’t know Billy was standing in front of him.

“Thas’ mean,” Steve returned with a slight slur. “I don’ hate them, I just never come to ‘em anymore.” 

“Then why’d you come?”

Steve let out a wry laugh. “You’re not the only one ‘ere with shitty parents, k? Jus’ needed to get away for a bit n’ have fun.”

If he was being honest, Billy was expecting a lame answer, but that made sense. He and Harrington had never been friends per se and they had gotten off to a rough start, but he knew Steve had protected his sister before so they at least had respect for each other. 

While Billy thought over Steve’s answer, Steve began to fight his way out of his jean jacket. Once he was free, he slumped over onto the table, the wood solid and comforting under his swirling head.

“-eve? Harrington, are you even listening?” A voice above him said, presumably Billy’s. He was more focused on how much he was sweating and that he seemed to be on a boat with how much his vision was rocking. 

Billy raised his eyes to the ceiling in annoyance, huffing a breath when Steve looked up at him with his flushed face. 

He could just leave. Not his friend, not his problem.

But, something didn’t feel right about that. 

“Come on, Harrington, get up. Let’s get you home.” Steve nodded, home sounded good. He fished his keys from his pocket and pushed himself up to his feet, only to have the keys be ripped out of his hand. He shot a glare at Billy, who had already grabbed his elbow and was leading him out of the party.

“No way in hell I’m letting you drive home drunk. I’m driving,” Billy stated. Steve just groaned and hiccuped, stumbling over his feet slightly. They reached Billy’s Camaro and he dumped Steve into the passenger seat. Once he started driving he looked over at Steve, who was leaning against the headrest with his eyes screwed shut.

“Should I take you back to yours?” he asked Steve. He knew if he came home in that state his dad would have a field day, so he might as well check with Steve before dumping him home.

“Yeah, they’re out of town who knows where. West coast, I think, so it's fine,” Steve responded. The excitement and adrenaline from the party had worn off, so now he was feeling the consequences of his drinking tenfold. Billy noticed the silence that followed his answer and glanced over again.

Steve had paled significantly and was swallowing more than normal; Billy had drowned his sorrows enough times to know what was about to happen next.

“Pretty boy, I swear to God, if you puke in my Camaro you won’t be alive long enough to clean it up,” he warned. Steve just swallowed again and put a hand to his mouth.

“Shut up, Hargrove,” he demanded just as he felt saliva began to flood his mouth. “Pull over.”

Billy whipped the car into the grass next to the road and was still rolling to a stop when Steve threw his door open. He twisted out of the car in the nick of time as all of the alcohol came surging up into the dry grass below him. It burned coming up even more than it did going down, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at the mess as it came out of his mouth and nose. 

He couldn’t tell how long he gagged; once he felt sufficiently empty he sagged against the seat belt. A napkin and half-empty bottle of water were shoved into his hands, and even though he would never admit it, he was grateful Billy was there. 

“Rinse your mouth and blow your nose, Harrington, I don’t want to sit here with your drunk ass forever.”

Steve followed the instructions, lazily swishing the water around until the taste of tequila and stomach acid was gone. Billy leaned over him to shut the door, and Steve felt like he blinked and they were pulling into his driveway. 

He got out of the car, and managed five steps before stumbling. He expected to meet the pavement with his knees and palms, but Billy caught under his shoulder before he could bust himself on the concrete. 

He took Steve’s key out of his pocket and let the duo into the dark house. Steve led the way to his bedroom, where he faceplanted into the bed immediately. 

Billy groaned.

“I got you this far, don’t make me take your shoes off too,” he said, but Steve moaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

“Too drunk, don’ make me,” he whined. 

“And whose fault it that?” Billy said exasperatedly, but despite his typical gruff exterior he figured if the positions were switched he’d want Harrington to do the same. He unlaced Steve’s trainers to the point he could toe them off easily, and returned to the bed a few minutes later with a fresh bottle of water, a trash can, and two aspirin. 

“Get up and take these,” he demanded. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Steve did as he was told. He hiccuped after downing half the bottle, then giggled. 

“Thanks from present me n’ morning me,” he yawned. He put his head on the pillow and was out before Billy could even reply.

“Yeah, yeah, Harrington. Just this once.”


	4. Dustin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's body goes haywire after being literally tortured and drugged by evil Russians. It's a good thing he's got a best friend like Dustin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii I'm back and have a TON written and ready to publish! I hope you're all safe and healthy. spoilers for season 3 in this chapter, just a head's up. hope you enjoy, steve and dustin's dynamic is definitely my favorite. this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes come from me writing this at a break-neck pace at 4 in the morning.

Someone must’ve messed with the volume of the doorbell while he was sleeping, it was the only real explanation. Steve swore that the thunderous ring echoing through the halls of his house had never been quite so obnoxious, and all he could do was groan as the sound exacerbated his already splitting headache. 

Who would even be at his house this early in the morning? Everyone he could think of visiting his house were either privately grieving or nursing their wounds after what took place at Starcourt Mall the previous night. He didn’t picture hearing from any of them for at least a week, if not longer, as they processed the losses of Billy and Hopper. Someone must be trying to sell something, then, or maybe it was just an annoying neighbor he could actively choose to ignore.

The ringing had stopped, and Steve allowed his eyes to drift shut in an attempt to sleep off the effects of being quite literally tortured and drugged only the day before. If the pounding in his temples and slowly-building nausea were anything to go by, he was still worse for wear even after he thought the drug had flushed itself out of his system. He should probably call Robin to see if she still felt sick, but that would wait until after he passed the fuck out for the next two business days. 

Sadly, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up. Instead of the doorbell this time, fists pounded on the wood to try and garner his attention. Shit, they probably wouldn’t go away and let him wallow in peace. With a long-suffering sigh, he threw the blanket off himself and began to trudge his way downstairs to tell whoever it was to kindly leave him alone forever. 

His feet were weirdly heavy, his vision was unnervingly fuzzy around the edges and his nausea rose threateningly in his stomach. Huh, that probably wasn’t good. He caught his reflection in the mirror as he stumbled down the staircase and to put it bluntly, he looked like he got hit by a semi; his face was littered with cuts and his eye was swollen shut.

He quickly averted his gaze from the mirror and swung the door open, humid July air rushing to greet him along with the eager face of a certain kid. Steve furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Henderson?” he asked aloud, and Dustin cocked his head slightly before brushing past Steve into the house.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered as Steve shut the door and mumbled something about sure, come in. “Are you concussed or something?”

Steve huffed out an amused breath. After everything that happened, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had some type of brain injury. Apparently he took too long to answer, and Dustin’s face contorted quickly in worry as he took in Steve’s appearance.

“So, I kind of was kidding, but you look dead,” he said. Before Steve could even register Dustin reached up and rested his palm on Steve’s forehead, much like he did in the elevator yesterday.

“Steve, you’re still burning up. I thought you felt better after you imitated The Exorcist?” Dustin grabbed Steve’s hand, leading him through the hallway to the living room and sat him down on the couch. 

“I felt fine after that,” Steve admitted, just as confused as Dustin. “But I woke up to the doorbell ringing feeling sick again. Thanks for the crack-of-dawn wake up call, by the way. What are you even doing here?”

Dustin checked his watch and rolled his eyes. “It’s 11 am Steve, don’t be dramatic. Can a guy not check on his best friend? Where do you keep your thermometer?” 

Steve tipped over on the couch with a groan, fed up with being upright, and flopped a hand towards the bathroom in response. Dustin bustled off, on the hunt for a thermometer and if he was lucky, some Tylenol. Steve had felt almost as warm as he did while high on whatever Russian drug he was injected with, and Dustin couldn’t help the worry settling in his gut.

A quick check through the bathroom cabinets gave Dustin close enough to what he was looking for; an old mercury thermometer and a probably-expired bottle of ibuprofen would do the job. He filled a cup with water and wet the bathroom hand towel with the cold tap before returning to his friend, who looked half-asleep already. 

“Steve, wake up for a little bit, I need to take your temperature,” he said, depositing his goods on the coffee table. Steve roused with a jump but settled down quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Little quieter Hendo, head is exploding over here,” Steve grumbled into a throw pillow. Dustin brought his voice down an octave, but was undeterred. He waited as Steve dragged himself upright and then popped the thermometer into his mouth. It looked relatively ancient, so Dustin quietly willed it to work.

A few minutes later Dustin plucked the thermometer from Steve’s mouth, frowning as the mercury rested at 101. Dustin was starting to feel a little out of his element, but this was Steve. He could pull it together for him. Just think, what would mom do? Easy, his mom would give him medicine, cuddle him up on the couch, and put on his favorite movies. He couldn’t quite replicate all of that with the warm fuzzies his mom could, but he could do some. 

First up, medicine. He coaxed Steve’s hand open, placing two pills into it. 

“Take these, they’ll make you feel better.” Steve did as he was told, Dustin helping him guide the cup to his mouth to chase the pills. Dustin placed the medicine and water on the table, and by the time he turned back around Steve had curled into an impossibly small ball on the cushions. He threw an arm over his eyes, grunting that it was bright and he was tired.  
An ice cold cloth pressed into his forehead and Steve momentarily startled before letting out a sigh of relief as the water immediately worked to cool the flames lapping at his brain and numb the throbbing mess that was his eye socket. He felt a blanket get dragged over him and a presence settle somewhat uncomfortably on the couch near his feet.

“You’re pretty good at this whole Florence Nightingale thing, kid,” Steve cracked a faint smile, squinting an eye open to see Dustin’s face relax at the praise.

“You think so? I haven’t had to take care of anyone before but don’t think I can call my mom or Mrs. Byers or anything,” he trailed off. Steve’s heart warmed at the kid’s uncertainty.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re taking way better care of me than my parents do,” he hummed the confession. The room was quiet and Steve instantly regretted saying anything. Damn, the fever must be messing with his filter.

“Makes me feel better? That’s not really ok Steve, I can’t imagine being sick without my mom.”

“Can we talk about this later? I don’t want to be conscious within the next thirty seconds,” Steve breathed, already falling asleep.

“Yeah, ‘course. Do you have Robin’s phone number anywhere? I’ll call her to see if she’s still feeling gross too.”

“My room,” was all Steve muttered before promptly passing out. Dustin pulled the blanket over Steve’s shoulders and left to find the number and the phone.

\---

“What do you mean ‘Steve is still drugged?’ The drug is all out of our systems,” Robin’s half-awake voice ground out from the phone. “I’m fine, just exhausted.”

“I don’t know, he’s running a fever just like last night and says he has a headache,” Dustin explained, worry beginning to edge into his voice. If Robin wasn’t feeling any lasting effects, then it wasn’t likely to be the drugs, but that left the question of what was wrong with Steve. Robin had obviously come to the same conclusion.

“Is there anything else wrong with him? Maybe the doofus is just sick or something, or wallowing in self-pity for never getting a girl at the shop,” she wondered aloud, but her attempt at being lighthearted didn’t help Dustin’s growing anxiety. “He probably just needs to sleep it off.”

“Robin, I’m scared,” Dustin confessed quietly as Robin rambled on what it could be. She stopped mid-sentence, taking a breath before her voice, much gentler this time, filled the receiver.  
“He’s going to be okay, Dustin, he’s a fighter” she assured, her quiet confidence helping him slightly. “I’m not great at this whole comfort thing, but I already know you’re doing a great job because I know you guys care about each other. We’ve all been through a lot, so his body is probably just throwing a temper tantrum or choosing to get sick for attention. You know he’s a drama queen,” she ended, prompting a teary laugh from Dustin.

“Thanks, Robin. You’re probably right.”

“Anytime, smaller doofus. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

They hung up and Dustin took a breath, feeling a bit more confident. He made his way downstairs, padding into the living room quietly so as not to wake Steve up. He neared the couch but after seeing Steve, his heart fell and he threw quiet, measured steps out the window and ran to his side. 

Steve was tangled up and writhing in the blanket, red flush painting his cheeks haphazardly and sweat beading his hairline. The now-dry washcloth had slid off, joining the blanket in its effort to entrap the feverish teen in an apparent nightmare. 

“Steve,” Dustin said urgently, “Steve, wake up, you’re way too hot.” He made quick work of removing the blanket and re-wetting the cloth, slipping the thermometer under Steve’s tongue. The agonizing wait ended with the mercury nearing 103, and Dustin’s panic soaring with it. 

Steve whimpered quietly, muttering Dustin’s name but still unconscious. Dustin’s eyes darted frantically around the room, thinking of anything that could help cool Steve down. He didn’t think he could drag Steve’s dead weight upstairs to the shower, so he’d have to come up with an alternative. Think, Dustin, think! You went to Camp Know Where, this is simple math compared to that.

His eyes landed on the sliding glass door barely ten steps away that led to the back garden. The garden hose! Hose water was always obnoxiously cold, so that would be his way to cool Steve down.

“Ok, ok. Upsy daisy, Steve, let’s go,” Dustin grunted to himself as he wedged himself under Steve’s shoulder and slung his listless arm around his own body. Slowly, being careful not to knock Steve’s lolling head on the door frame, Dustin half-dragged his charge outside and eased him onto the grass. He sprinted to the green rubber hose hanging from a hook on the side of the house and practically ripped the knob off in his haste to turn on the flow. The hose sputtered to life, cold water gushing out. Dustin directed the spray onto Steve, careful not to wet his face in an attempt to not shock his body too much.  
Sweat from the stifling air and pure adrenaline dripped down Dustin’s temples. What felt like an eternity later, Steve raised a hand to his face and roused slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the flow of constant, freezing water pouring on him. Was that grass brushing against his skin?

“W- what the fuck?” he groused. Before he could ease himself into a sitting position, he was gripped in the tightest hug he had ever received. 

“Hey, shh, you’re okay buddy,” Dustin’s voice sounded in his ear. Steve couldn’t help but huff out a laugh; that was the exact thing Dustin had said in the car after he got his ass kicked by Billy. Dustin hadn’t lessened his octopus grip, but Steve was suddenly hyper-aware of just how soaked he was.

“Uh, Dust? You can let go, your clothes are gonna get all wet,” he said, but Dustin didn’t move an inch. He still felt kind of foggy, but based on their current situation he was much worse off before Dustin intervened.

“I get to say when the hug ends,” Dustin replied, “you lost that right when you scared the shit out of me.”

Steve couldn’t find it in him to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> alright my dudes this is the first time I've written this type of fic so bear with me. also I will love Steve til my dying day so it made my heart vv happy when people requested more whumped Steve (ask and ye shall receive). all mistakes are mine because i refuse to edit my shit at 1 in the morning.
> 
> enjoy!!
> 
> my tumblr is @sickysaf if ya want to give ya girl a follow


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